


Dr. Harry

by unicornball



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst Lite™, Derogatory Language/Hate speech, Divorce, Doctor Harry, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, HP: EWE, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Spousal Abuse, M/M, Mentions of/Implied child abuse, Possible Mpreg, Smut, mature language, mentions of mpreg, there is fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornball/pseuds/unicornball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>Harry "Cunningham" has moved on with his life... But, as his luck would have it, his past isn't easy to leave behind. Cue one Draco Malfoy with an adorable son to interrupt Harry's careful arrangement.</strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _I freely admit I troll fanart sites. Frequently. I recently saw a cluster of Healer/Doctor Harry pics and it spawned this. I haven't read many Dr. Harry fics yet so hopefully this doesn't turn out clichéd or predictable. Harry is a Muggle doctor (we'll let him explain why as we go along) and has a most surprising patient. Guess who? Oh, fine... it's Draco's son! And cue the Drarry... Heh._
> 
> _Also, heads up for questionable medical knowledge (Google and personal experience only goes so far; please forgive any glaring errors but feel free to kindly point them out)._
> 
> _Enjoy! :))_

Draco Malfoy held his son close, trying to sooth his quietly sniffling child as they waited for the healer... er, _doctor_.

He couldn't still his jiggling knee, even if he wanted to. He was anxious as it was with his son being injured... And being in the middle of a Muggle hospital (an _American_ Muggle hospital) _with_ his injured son wasn't helping his nerves any. He tried to keep the sneer off his face as he looked around the drab room and the people he could see just outside the flimsy curtain. Some were medical staff rushing about, others were patients shuffling about or staring blankly as they sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs as they waited their turn to be seen.

How embarrassing was it that _this_ was where he had to take his son?

Draco looked up when he heard a staticy, disembodied voice paging _Doctor Cunningham, Doctor Cunningham to room 312_ for the third time and he sighed loudly. They had been waiting for Doctor Cunningham for nearly 20 minutes now; if he were paranoid, he'd think it was personal.

He knew better, though. Americans, in the scattered but fairly large magical communities, were largely ignorant of his family's history and the role they played in the last Wizarding War. (Most Americans didn't even know there _had_ been a problem across the pond. He sort of envied that, honestly. The ones aware of the struggle didn't have many details and tended to shrug it away; it was over and done, not worth talking about anymore if it wasn't deemed important day-to-day.)

So, reality—and not his overactive imagination—meant American Muggles, especially, didn't know (or loath) the name Malfoy. The wait was just simply how it was. For everyone. It was stupid, and rather inconvenient, but at least it was the norm.

Draco gently shushed and soothed Scorpius when his son whimpered and sniffled again. He was pretty sure the pain medication wasn't helping... Damn Muggles and their stupid, ineffective pain medication. It took too damn long to work and he found himself wistfully missing the horrible tasting pain potions of his childhood. For the most part, they tasted like poached skunk's arse, but they _worked_. Quickly.

He straightened when shuffling, quick footsteps approached the room they were in instead of walking past. He felt a moment of wild hope followed hotly by a surge of panic when he saw the doctor. The head of messy black hair and short, lithe build (noticeable even with the baggy, white doctor's coat covering the man's body) was eerily familiar. The man even had glasses; they were thin, modern frames that were virtually invisible at the right angle.

Just as he was trying to convince himself there was no possible way Harry Potter could possibly be standing in front of him (Ladies Fate and Luck didn't hate him _that_ much, did they?) the man looked up.

Draco caught surprised green eyes and mentally cursed. _Fuck you sideways Fate and Luck, you sour old twats_ , he thought morosely. He stayed still, keeping a comforting grip on Scorpius as the doctor (who was _not_ Harry fucking Potter—it just _had_ to be some random, cosmic 'everyone-has-a-twin' thing) shuffled into the room. He narrowed his eyes when the doctor looked everywhere (the chart, the room's floor, even his son) but at him.

"Scorpius Malfoy," Doctor Cunningham said, trying his damnedest to ignore Draco Malfoy's presence. He checked the file once more, confirming name (yeah, definitely Scorpius Malfoy—dammit) and age, (6 years old, going on 7 in a week) as well as why he was there (injured elbow). "I'm Doctor Cunningham," he said, eyes flicking briefly to the elder Malfoy. He'd curse his luck, but it was a moot point... By now, he was used to the occasional bout of horrendous luck.

He quickly redirected his attention and smiled at the little boy and pointed to the arm that was being cradled gingerly against a small midsection. "Hurt our arm, I see. May I take a look?" He pulled a wheeled stool closer and plopped down on it. He waited until grey eyes (just like Malfoy's) flicked all over his face, apparently searching for something. Scorpius finally nodded slowly and he nodded back, pleased he seemed to have passed some test and offered another small smile.

"Let's have a look," he said softly and gently looked at the boy's arm. The elbow was swollen, looking painful and inflamed. Definitely broken—elbows didn't swell up otherwise. He didn't prod or poke at it, sparing the child the unnecessary pain. "It appears to be broken, but we'll get an X-ray to be sure, hm?" he asked Scorpius, giving the small blonde a winning smile when he nodded importantly, giving his consent. He focused on the child's chart, avoiding the elder Malfoy's gaze and quiet "Potter".

He was going to ignore that damn blonde. His name was Cunningham, dammit, and that was the only name he would respond to.

"Right, let's get you to X-ray," Harry said to the younger blonde as he stood. He waited for Malfoy to help Scorpius to his feet and eased a hand over the boy's narrow shoulders, smiling down at the little blonde when he just followed along without protest or pulling his arm away. "So, how did we do this then?" he asked, nodding towards the arm Scorpius had tucked against his side protectively.

Elbows weren't common areas to break, but he saw it enough to wonder if it was some sort of athletic accident. The old 'it's all fun until someone gets hurt' was not just an old cliché, in his opinion. He spared a moment to curse the invention of trampolines, loathing the high percentage of children he saw due to the damn things, before giving the small blonde his full attention again. 

He noticed the way Scorpius shoulders stiffened and he looked warily, questioningly, back at his father. As much as he wanted to, he didn't follow the child's gaze to look at Malfoy. For about a whole 10 seconds. The blondes seemed to be having quite the silent conversation and he could not decipher what was being 'said' apart from the child's unease.

Draco cleared his throat and gave his son an apologetic look. He looked at Doctor 'Cunningham', his face blank. "Bit of a mess on the stairs tripped Scorpius up," he said after a pause. He wanted to wince; it sounded like a pathetic lie to his ears, but Harry was nodding a little. He was almost annoyed the man had gone back to studying the tiles or nodding to random staff that passed them instead of having the decency to look at him.

"He landed funny and his elbow swelled up like a balloon moments later." The panic and anguish in his voice was real, even if the story wasn't. He gave Scorpius' shoulder a consoling pat and squeezed gently, offering a silent apology.

"I see," Harry said, trying not to look at the elder blonde any more than he had to. He didn't want to have to explain to the child why he was glaring at his father, after all.

Also, it was unprofessional—and he prided himself on maintaining his professionalism through any challenge.

Even blonde gits.

He hadn't seen the blonde bastard in years—before he'd even made himself at home in Muggle London. Sure, he didn't exactly hate Dra—Malfoy; they had sorted through quite a bit of childhood issues after Malfoy's trial (and the return of his wand). They had actually become friends; it hadn't been easy but they'd managed to stop trying to kill each other and verbally attack the other after Hermione (Merlin love her) had threatened to hex them for being childish wankers. Not even Malfoy had the bottle to disagree with her, probably remembering Hermione's right hook. After that, they tried to get along. It became less and less of a shock as they started to realize how much they shared in common the other.

Until Malfoy started ignoring his owls, floo and phone calls. After several failed attempts, unopened letters returned by _Malfoy's_ owl—instead of his own, indicating the blonde had gotten the letter but was ignoring it, forgoing giving a response for whatever reason.

He had, eventually, gotten the hint that Malfoy was over their trail friendship.

Surprisingly, it had hurt. He thought they'd started to get along really well (well enough to have Ron in frequent jealous snits that only served to amuse Draco). He'd even started to notice his feelings changing into ones more-than-friendly when the blonde buggered off without a backwards glance. He had his tantrum, Hermione rolling her eyes but talking him through his angsty moments and a thankfully brief, unhealthy relationship with Firewhiskey. He finally got to the point he was able to respect Malfoy's unspoken wishes to sever ties and eventually left him alone.

And now, here was Malfoy—with his adorable (even with tear-stained cheeks) mini-me. Even as it hurt a little to see Malfoy had a son, he couldn't help feeling a detached sort of happiness Malfoy had a son, an heir, like he'd always wanted. He tried to ignore the pleasant feeling he felt flutter through him to see Malfoy's open affection for the child, but it was difficult.

He wasn't aware of his thoughts mirroring the blonde's when he cursed Fate and Luck. Why did the Malfoys have to come to a Muggle hospital? And even worse, to _his_ hospital? He never would have, in a million years, expected to see Malfoy move across the pond... to _America_ —the git never had anything nice to say about the country (or Americans), so it was a shock. But he wouldn't ask about it. It really wasn't his concern and he had a feeling Malfoy wouldn't offer an explanation, anyway.

Harry cleared his thoughts and got Scorpius settled on the X-ray table, watching the tech lay a leaded apron over his body and shift his arm as gently as she could, murmuring apologies for each pained whimper. He ducked behind the partition, pleased the tech didn't kick him out. It was over quickly and the tech was helping the young blonde stand moments later. He escorted Scorpius back to their waiting room, relieved Malfoy hung back as they walked.

"Be right back, kiddo," Harry said brightly, leaving before either blonde could comment. He needed a moment and he also needed to find the tech for the X-ray images. He adored Muggle technology and that X-ray technology had advanced to the point they could, for the most part, be read on any computer or hand-held tablet now. He tapped and swiped at his tablet, bringing up Scorpius' X-rays. He tsked softly, noticing the break. It wasn't terrible, just a bad fracture really, but enough to cause massive amounts of pain and swelling.

He grabbed casting materials and headed back to the Malfoys. He held up the package, "I hope you like green?"

Scorpius chewed the inside of his cheek, sneaking a peek at his dad. "Uhm, red's my favorite color," he said softly. He gave the doctor a shy smile and really hoped he wouldn't be stuck with green... Maybe if they had camo print it would be cool but not just plain green. Yuck.

"Oh, be right back," Harry said, trying not to smirk or gape like a fool. He quickly ducked out, chuckling softly as he swapped out the casting material. He was probably more amused than he should be to know Malfoy's son liked the color red over green. He popped back in the room and got everything ready. He dragged his wheeled stool back over, settling himself right at the end of the bed Scorpius was perched on. "So, this your first cast?" he asked, simply to make conversation.

He did notice the way the boy stiffened once again without offering an answer, but he just hummed with a small shrug and stayed focused on his task. He was happy with silence... He positioned Scorpius' arm, instructing the little boy to keep it still, and started wrapping it with batting.

Scorpius, and his dad, watched the casting process with detached interest. This was Scorpius' third cast, after all, and he was no stranger to the procedure. Both blondes were impressed with Doctor Cunningham's agile fingers, gentle touch, and knowledgeable technique, as well. By the time Doctor Cunningham was gently smoothing the red overlaying casting material, Scorpius was feeling pleasantly groggy and lightweight. "I hate casts," he muttered, his voice slurred and heavy with the pain medication. "Itchy."

"I bet," Harry said non-committally, recognizing the mumblings of a dozy child. Just as he finished smoothing the cast, rounding the edges for comfort, he noticed Scorpius was out completely, the pain medication finally knocking him out and into sleep. "Third, correct?" he asked Malfoy without looking up at him. He focused on smoothing the edges of the cast, keeping his hands gentle so he didn't jar Scorpius' arm more than he needed to.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment. He had hoped Harry's earlier question meant he wasn't aware of Scorpius' medical history. Bugger. "Yes," he admitted. He hated that he had to see Muggle doctors. He hated that they kept thorough _records_ even more.

Harry merely hummed, unsure what to say. He didn't want to discuss anything personal and he knew Malfoy would shoot down any attempts to ask about problems at home. He didn't want to accuse the blonde of anything, but he was getting a funny feeling in his gut. He ignored it though, taking Malfoy at his word that the cause of the injury was a simple combination of bad housekeeping and childhood clumsiness (he had seen Teddy trip over air enough times to know some children were just uncoordinated). He watched the blonde gently smooth hair away from Scorpius forehead and place a lingering, gentle kiss to his temple. It really didn't look like the action of an abusive parent (or one overly compensating).

He rolled his stool away, scooting as far back as he could and still give a semblance of politeness. "You'll have to call for an appointment and come back in a few days so the area can be X-rayed again," he said, handing Malfoy and out-patient caresheet print out and the contact information for the Pediatric Orthopedic department the hospital worked with. "They might adjust the cast a bit, since the swelling should go down soon." He watched Malfoy nod, his eyes on the card, knowing the blonde was familiar with the procedure.

"Pain medication?" Draco managed to ask, smoothing a hand through Scorpius fine blonde hair. He once again wished he could just sort everything with a pain potion, but Scorpius was allergic to them and wouldn't stand for the vile taste of alternatively brewed potions. That and he had yet to find a decent Potion Master in this sodding country. American wizards, apparently, didn't bother with the subject and most shuddered at the very idea—most preferred Muggle pharmaceuticals.

Yes, ingesting bat spleens (and other fun things) did sound revolting, but it was a fair sight better than suffering with pain or a hangover if one didn't have to.

Harry cleared his throat and passed over a small, amber-tinted plastic bottle. "It's a low dosage of codeine and Tylenol. There's enough for a week or so, try to overlap the doses so he doesn't experience any pain," he said, nodding at the smaller sleeping blonde. He didn't like the idea of Scorpius dealing with the pain and it was easier to _keep_ pain away than trying to chase it away. He watched Malfoy pocket the bottle and turned on his stool, sure the blonde would take his son and leave.

"Cunningham?"

Harry knew he was asking about the name and not addressing him. He chose ignorance though, and just hummed, cocking his head a little to indicate he was paying attention.

"You know what I'm asking, Harry," Draco said archly, annoyed Harry was being an arse. He knew the ex-Gryffindor well enough to practically read his mind. Even after all this time. He sucked his teeth with annoyance when Harry only continued to look at the charts, occasionally making notes in his chicken-scratch. He carefully slid out from under Scorpius, arranging his son on the bed, and poked Harry in the shoulder. Probably a little harder than intended when Harry winced and wrenched his shoulder away. "I'm talking to you."

Harry slowly turned, a wry smile on his face. "Oh, now that _you_ want to talk, I'm meant to just go with it?" he asked, pleased he managed to sound almost bored and not as stroppy as he felt. He sort of hated Malfoy still had the ability to make him feel 14 again, in the worst way possible. He folded his arms across his chest and felt a little mean to enjoy the clear discomfort, and a little guilt, flitting across Malfoy's face. He realized it was probably a little petty, but he still did, just a little. Served the bastard right. He spun back around on his stool, ignoring the arse and going back to his notes.

"I'm sorry about that," Draco muttered. He hated apologizing but he knew when it was needed. He narrowed his eyes when Harry continued to ignore him. " _I said_ I'm sorry, you git. I don't just throw apologies around easily, you know," he said, waving his hands around a little.

Harry spun around again. " _And_? Fine, you're sorry. Good for you. You're forgiven," he said with an eye roll. "You should take Scorpius home, the hospital beds aren't comfortable." He knew from personal experience how terrible the beds were, having kipped on one here and there during his time at the hospital. He'd rather sleep on the floor... He looked at the younger blonde and couldn't suppress a small smile. Scorpius really was adorable; he looked a lot Malfoy when he was a small, pale, pointy, skinny little prat. 

"What?" Draco stared, trying to make sense at the quick change of subject. Well, Harry said he was forgiven, and that was important. Right? Even if it didn't sound sincere, grudgingly given, he was going to accept it at face value. Harry couldn't have changed that much in the past few years to not mean it...

"I will, but I'm curious... Why Cunningham?"

Harry sighed and rubbed at his forehead, making the skin wrinkle. He knew Malfoy well enough to remember he was a stubborn arsehole and wouldn't leave this go. He certainly didn't feel like having the git in his face for hours, demanding answers and poking him incessantly. He had hours on shift yet and he wanted to see the back of him as quickly as possible.

"I kept my married name. There—" He spread his hands out. "Mystery solved."

"You got married?" Draco asked quietly, his eyebrows rising up his forehead. He felt a sensation that he couldn't identify, but felt suspiciously like a punch in the stomach, and promptly ignored it. His brows then lowered and pinched together in confusion. It seemed odd Harry would take his wife's name; that didn't seem a common practice at all. Of course, if Harry had wanted a new surname badly enough, he'd do it happily. The idiot.

Harry sucked his teeth and huffed a sharp breath through his nose. "Yes." He didn't want to tell the prat he was no longer married, very unwilling to delve that deeply into his personal life with the blonde. He wasn't going to go into the divorce or his reasons for keeping his husband's last name, even though they were no longer married. Malfoy would probably laugh at him and tell him he deserved it all for being a naive, idiotic Gryffindor.

"Oh." Draco's eyes lowered until they were resting on Harry's left hand. His ring finger was bare. There wasn't even a line indicating he wore a ring there habitually or recently. Maybe he didn't bother since he was a doctor; he knew quite a few professions were jewelry was a dangerous hindrance and therefore removed. However, there were no marks at all that would indicate Harry wore a ring when he wasn't working, either. It was very curious...

"Where's your ring?" he blurted out. He noted Harry's tense shoulders and supremely annoyed expression and shrugged unapologetically when he was pinned with hardened green eyes. He was curious. Harry should remember that about him.

Harry resisted the urge to tell Malfoy to go fuck himself— _sideways_ —and just took a few deep breathes. "I don't wear it any more. Seems pointless since I'm no longer married," he said with a flat look and a small, brittle smile. He wasn't going to say any more. He wouldn't—

"So, you're divorced then?"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel his blood-pressure spiking... Malfoy was many things but daft wasn't one of them and him asking pointless questions Harry had already answered was wearing his patience thin. "Go. Away."

"No," Draco said smugly and made a show of getting comfortable on the bed next to Scorpius. It was hard and the flimsy padding did nothing to keep the metal frame from immediately pressing against his arse in a most uncomfortable way. But it didn't matter. He wanted the juicy gossip, he could put up with some mild discomfort in the hopes of getting the dirt on Harry.

And judging by the pissy look on the other man's face, it was _good,_ too. Potter—er, Cunningham was _divorced_! It was shocking and rather scandalous... But he really couldn't imagine how that possibly could have happened. Potter was practically a saint, he simply couldn't imagine what could have had the man end something as serious as marriage. Maybe the bint cheated on him? It was actually a relief to realize Potter wouldn't put up with that, regardless of his annoying self-sacrificing ways. He always thought the other man resembled a doormat too often...

"What happened?"

Harry turned his back to Malfoy, firm in his convictions to ignore the prat. After a solid two minutes of Malfoy asking 'what happened?', over and over again like a hyperactive toddler, he whirled around. He noted Malfoy's smug little smirk, but he ignored it. He was pissed off but not enough to start blabbing his business to the blonde. "Shut up! _Merlin_ , you're annoying! I'm not telling you, so shove off. Take your kid home."

"No, I want to know what happened."

Harry snorted, a sound of dark amusement. "Well, that's just tough shit, now, isn't it. I don't owe you _any_ explanation." He pointed at the small, sleeping blonde and used his stern doctor voice. "You need to take him home so he can rest. And maybe take better care of him, yeah?" he added. He wanted to wince when Malfoy's expression closed off.

Maybe that was a little much...

As a doctor, and a parent, he knew accidents happened all the time-- in the blink of an eye. Teddy nearly broke his wrist jumping off a couch when he'd turned away for a grand total of 10 seconds. He was opening his mouth to apologize, take the words back if possible, when Malfoy's lips shifted into a nasty, familiar sneer.

Oh. Well... Bugger.

"Fuck off, Potter," Draco said in a low, clipped voice. "What the fuck do _you_ know? Do you even have kids?" he asked coolly. Harry shook his head, only hesitating a little (he _did_ have partial custody of Teddy but he knew what Malfoy was getting at). Draco smirked meanly, as if expecting the negative answer. "Then you haven't the faintest idea of what it's like being a parent."

Harry swallowed thickly, his hand resting on his lower stomach for a moment before he forced it (and the tight, dark feeling that tried to smother him) down and away. "True," he said quietly, inclining his head slightly, after clearing his throat twice to get past the lump lodged there.

He certainly wasn't going to tell Malfoy about _that_ issue. He'd only told Hermione of his miscarriage-- and that was only because she had been the one to find him curled in on himself, his lower half covered in blood, and apparated him to St. Mungo's in a blind panic. He still counted himself (and Hermione) extremely lucky they hadn't been splinched. He cleared his throat again, hardened his expression and looked pointedly at the door.

Harry was a little dismayed they'd gone back to their 'hurting each other' dynamic—and quite easily at that. Maybe that just proved their friendship was doomed before it really even started and it was for the best it hadn't gone anywhere. It saddened him, but maybe Malfoy had realized it first and that was why he stopped bothering all those years ago.

Fine. He could let it go, too. He had other friends; he didn't need a snarky, mean spirited little twat to hang around with.

Draco stared at Harry, confused by the anguish he saw plain as day on the man's face before it was wiped away.  He really didn't want to dwell on why it had been a practiced response for the normally open man. He didn't like the easy way Harry just... gave up. It was just plain wrong not to fight with Harry. Maybe he had pushed for too much, too soon. They hadn't talked in years and he forgot how sensitive Harry could be about certain things (even if he didn't exactly know which part of his comment had, apparently, crushed the man enough to close off).

He sighed softly, another apology withering on his tongue, and gathered Scorpius to his chest, making sure he was comfortable and secure. He eased out of the doorway, briefly turning to look over his shoulder. He almost said 'bye', but Harry was pointedly ignoring him so he simply left.


	2. Chapter 2

It was nearly four months later when Harry saw Draco again.

He had almost convinced himself he forgot all about the blonde... But then he walked into the patient room to see him and Scorpius, in almost exactly same position they'd been in the first time. Except this time, Scorpius' ankle was the issue. He nearly winced; it was swollen to the size of an orange. He kept in the sigh that wanted to explode out of him and managed to greet Scorpius warmly. He hooked an ankle around the rolling stool in the corner and dragged it closer to the pair of blondes and sat down on it.

"Hullo again, Scorpius." The young blonde just looked up at him, his face once again tear streaked and pinched with pain. He squashed the urge to wipe at the tears, reminding himself to be professional and settled for a small, warm smile. "Let's have a look at that ankle?" he murmured, rolling closer. He gently grasped the child's thin calf and lifted his leg, settling it on his knee in just a way as to not be painful. He pushed up the blonde's thin pants and gently prodded the swollen ankle. He inspected it gingerly, moving it as little as possible and trying to keep his cool fingers in as much contact with the swollen area as possible.

"It doesn't appear to be broken, but let's check to be sure, hm?" Harry smiled reassuringly when Scorpius nodded weakly, ignoring Draco completely this time. He had nothing to say to the older blonde, anyway.

Draco watched Harry sooth Scorpius, smiling a little when his son's blonde little head bobbed in a show of bravery. He idly wondered if all of Harry's patients got the same level of care. He didn't think Scorpius was special to the other man, but he figured it didn't hurt to pretend. Not many people went out of their way to treat his son (or him, but he was used to it in a way his son wasn't) so nicely. Or warmly. He watched as Harry left, saying something about needing a wheelchair.

He shared a smile with his son when Harry hurried back in, wheelchair in front of him, and he spun the contraption with a flourish. It was almost adorable to see the way Harry interacted with Scorpius and it was obvious why the man had gone into pediatrics.

"Right, in we get," Harry said, coming back in the room behind a wheelchair. He shuffled over to help Scorpius into the wheelchair. He quickly stepped back when Malfoy stepped forward, helping Scorpius into the chair. He wasn't a stranger to hovering parents, so he didn't mind the way his task was interrupted. It was the way Malfoy's hand brushed his that had him stepping back. He tucked his hand into his pocket and indicated with his other hand where Malfoy should settle his son.

Thankfully, Malfoy didn't try to take over pushing the wheelchair, probably only because he didn't know where to go. He spun it around quickly, making Scorpius giggle softly as he grabbed the arm rests for security, and headed out of the room.

He was very aware of Malfoy's closeness as they walked down the hallway, but he was trying his damnedest to ignore the intense stare that was practically heating the side of his face. He didn't get why Malfoy was staring, but he ignored him anyway. He wasn't talking and he wasn't interested in anything but making sure the git's son was taken care of.

Harry occupied himself by talking to his small patient, giving Scorpius a quick run-through about how they X-ray ankles. It wasn't much different than other parts of the body but he would be put in some awkward positions for the X-rays.

He grit his teeth when Malfoy would. Not. Stop. Staring. What the fuck was his problem?

Draco pulled his gaze away from Harry's face and cleared his throat. "I see there is still no ring, Potter," he said in a bored drawl. He smirked for about 2 seconds... until Potter finally looked up at him. Once the disgruntled expression flickered away, he realized the other man looked like hell. Harry's hair was worse than usual; sticking up in all directions, except for a small flat spot on the side (like he'd managed to find sleep just long enough to get a bit of pillow-head but didn't give a toss to smooth it outl) and had used his fingers as a comb. Numerous times. With horrible results. There were fatigue lines and shadows around his eyes.

"You look like shit," he blurted out. He grimaced, annoyed at the absence of his usual tact.

"Thanks ever so," Harry said dryly, adding a soft snort as he rolled his eyes. He looked away and focused on pushing Scorpius towards X-ray. He ignored Malfoy's second attempt at conversation, overriding anything he tried to say by speaking nonsense to Scorpius or greeting people they passed. He shook his head with a bemused smile when another nurse passed by, winking at the pair of them and giving a cheery 'hello'. It was hard to tell who got more attention; him or Scorpius. The little blonde was adorable and had the added appeal of a looking like a wounded kitten in the large wheelchair.

Draco was a little annoyed no one seemed to think anything odd about Harry's appearance. Did they not care that he looked utterly exhausted and on the verge of collapse? Did they not see the man practically shuffling about like an _Inferi_? Even he could admit the man was normally much more vibrant and... attractive. He clenched his jaw but he found himself poking Harry's shoulder and muttering "Does no one else notice your lack of sleep?" anyway.

"They're used to it, too," Harry said in a bored tone, waving the blonde's comment away with a dismissive hand flap. It's not like he's the only one that's ever pulled 20 hour shifts or took back-to-back shifts. He certainly wasn't the only one to pull continuous shifts, either—working until he was nearly cross-eyed with exhaustion and only stopping for fear he'd fuck up too badly and kill someone. Whenever he wasn't occupied with caring for Teddy, working kept his mind occupied and free of random blondes that popped up out of the blue.

He watched the tech get Scorpius how she needed him and shuffled outside. He closed his eyes, his jaw cracking wide with a yawn, and leaned his head against the wall. As soon as he was done with the Malfoys, he was leaving; crawling into his bed and staying there for a week. He jumped when Malfoy clicked his tongue, the sound disproving and echoing sharply in the mostly quiet hallway.

Draco frowned a little, watching Harry's eyes slowly open, as if they really didn't want to. He really hoped Harry found somewhere better to sleep rather than propped up against a wall, and soon. "What the hell, Potter?"

"For fuck's sake," Harry muttered as he wiped a hand over his face, too tired to bother censoring himself. Or from being pissy. "It's Cunningham. How hard is that to remember?" he snapped, glaring at the blonde. He sniffed wen there was no forthcoming answer, lifted his nose up and went back to resting against the wall. His eyes slid closed again, feeling hot, gritty, and dry. He really couldn't wait to fall into his bed. He didn't acknowledge the annoyed huff or the sound of sucking teeth from Malfoy. He was even less interested in talking to him than he was 5 minutes ago before Malfoy's attempt at complimenting him and then harassing him.

Draco's glare was wasted since Harry wasn't looking at him anymore. "It's not hard to remember, but it's absolutely ridiculous. I mean, _honestly_. Married but not married. It makes no sense, Potter."

" _Cunningham_ ," Harry mumbled stubbornly.

Draco scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I refuse to call you that. Unless of course, you're properly married," he pressed. He didn't know why he needed to know, he just _did_. And damn Potter for not giving him what he wanted. "I mean, how bad could the bint have been?" he said, leaning closer in an effort to read Harry's expression. He didn't so much as twitch. "Surely not as horrendous as Ginger bits?

"Shuddup," Harry murmured, just as his jaw cracked open in a wide yawn. He didn't bother trying to defend Ginny; they were still friends and Malfoy should know that. They hadn't been anything _but_ friends since Ginny graduated and started seeing Theo Nott (of all people). He also wasn't going to say a word about his ex-husband. Even if he'd been foolish enough to move to another country for the man, he didn't regret _most_ of what happened.

And there was the small matter that it wasn't the blonde bastard's business. "It's none of your business, so fuck off."

Draco pursed his lips together, his fingers tapping a sharp cadence against his elbow. He took a long measured breath, exhaling slowly. "Do you speak to all your patients that way?"

"You aren't my patient," Harry said, a little smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "And, no; just insufferable prats that don't mind their own bloody business."

Draco huffed and snapped his mouth closed. Potter was just as stubborn as he was, and he knew he'd get nowhere just questioning the man. He'd have to be sly and trick the idiot into answering.

"Fine," he said shortly and leaned against the wall next to Harry, pointedly staring at him. Even exhausted, the other man was a sight. He ignored that, like had all those years ago, and poked at Harry's shoulder. "What's the big deal? Just tell me. You making it sound all mysterious is only going to make me double my efforts."

"Fuck off," Harry said, not even bothering to open his eyes. He sighed, wishing the X-ray tech would hurry up. It was only an ankle, for Merlin's sake. He slowly opened his eyes, his gritty-feeling lids protesting the movement. He gave Malfoy a searching look. "Tell me why Scorpius has been in the ER seven times in the past year and a half."

Draco swallowed thickly and looked away. He considered just repeating Harry's succinct 'fuck off' but didn't. He briefly considered bartering for the answer; he'd tell Harry if Harry answered him. After a brief, internal debate, he decided for vague, half-answers... "He's accident prone." He ignored Harry's disbelieving snort—there was some truth there after all—and just waited for more questions. Or a well timed interruption from Scorpius. Neither came and he wanted to fidget as the heavy silence continued.

How had he forgotten how exhilarating yet nerve-wracking that green-eyed stare could be?

"You do realize I noticed the long sleeves," Harry said quietly. It was the middle of June and the long sleeves were completely out of place—unless they were hiding something. He watched Draco's eyes slowly close and his mouth pinch until his lips were a bloodless line slashed across the lower half of his face. "Fine," he said tiredly, realizing he wasn't getting anything else from the blonde. "I have to report it, you know."

Old friend—er, acquaintance or not, he simply couldn't turn a blind eye if there were signs of abuse. It was a matter of personal and professional ethics.

They both turned when the tech wheeled Scorpius out. Harry was quick to backing away when Draco moved to situate himself at the wheelchair's handlebars. The blonde was down the hall before Harry had even righted himself off the wall.

He sighed and looked at the X-ray tech, offering a tired smile, "Thanks, Erica. Lemme know when they're ready?" She nodded and went back into the room. He made his way back to the room the Malfoys had been in, preparing himself for an empty room.

Harry blinked owlishly when the room had both Malfoys in it. Scorpius' eyelids were drooping, head bobbing down towards his chest occasionally since his pain medication had finally kicked in. They were talking quietly, he could only hear soft murmuring, matching blonde heads nearly pressed together.

"Scorpius, you can tell Harry," Draco said quietly. He smiled when his son's eyes slowly opened and focused on him, eyebrows raised curiously. "Really," he pushed when Scorpius remained quiet. "It's OK, he'll help." He refused to look up, in case Harry refused. Now would be the worst time to find out Potter had gotten over his 'saving people thing'. He didn't think Harry would let the name Malfoy dictate how he handled things, but he was nervous about it regardless of how well he knew the other man previously.

Harry settled himself on the wheeled stool again, scooting closer to be in Scorpius eye line. He hunched a bit, even though he wasn't that imposing when sitting, and he noticed the young blonde looked torn; wanting to tell but scared of what would happen. He gently applied a chemical ice pack to the swollen ankle and kept his eyes on the smaller blonde as he asked, "Does your dad hurt you?"

"What? No!" Scorpius said loudly, practically yelling. He leaned back against his dad and gave Doctor Cunningham... Potter— _whatever_ — a scornful look. It was easier to just think 'Harry' since he couldn't keep his last name straight (the doctor said one name, but his dad said another; it was confusing).

He lifted his chin, going for a proud, defiant expression he'd learned from his dad. "No, it's not my dad. I'm just... clumsy," he admitted, feeling his cheeks get hot. His dad didn't make a fuss over it, but he knew it had to be embarrassing to have a clumsy Malfoy around. His dad never stumbled around and tripped over carpet. His grandfather certainly didn't. And more than once he saw the elder Malfoy trying to hid a sneer when he thought Scorpius or his dad wasn't looking.

Dr. Harry gave him a patient look and his hands fidgeted in his lap. "My mom... She's... rough sometimes." Scorpius paused, nibbling his lower lip and wiggling in his dad's lap to get comfortable. "She doesn't mean it, though," he added, feeling it important to mention. He really didn't think she did, anyway. She said herself she just wasn't good with kids (even her own) and just got frustrated really easy.

Harry nodded slowly, hiding his surprise. He really didn't think Malfoy would harm his son but he hadn't expected that answer, either. He felt like a bit of a shit for immediately assuming it had been Draco. It wasn't like it was unheard of for mother's to abuse their children (he was quite sure the numbers were higher actually), but he just hadn't considered it. He considered apologizing but he didn't want Malfoy snarling and sneering at him again.

He slowly reached forward, placing a hand on Scorpius thin arm, pleased the blonde didn't flinch or pull away. "Can I look?" he asked, gently pinching the material of the shirt sleeve. He heard Scorpius gulp but the little blonde nodded, so he pushed the sleeve up. Like he expected, five round bruises were on Scorpius' upper arm. He didn't have to wrap his hand around the boy's arm to know they would match up with four fingers and a thumb. He shook his head, banishing old memories.

"Do you live with your mom?" he asked, letting the sleeve drop to cover the boy's arm again. He didn't know why, but he got the impression Malfoy and his wife were separated, or at least living separately.

"No, just every other week and sometimes weekends. Some holidays," Scorpius said, his voice slurring a bit as his head sagged towards his chest again. His head felt swimmy and he giggled. "Two Christmases is fun."

He really didn't like going to his mom's. Not only did she yell at him and lose her temper often, he hated the International Port-key he had to use to get to her spacious house. It took forever and he always felt like he was going to vomit when he landed. He did the first time and his mom had hollered at him for an hour and made him clean it up. Without magic (since he wasn't 'allowed' to use it), or help from a house-elf. (He'd sulked, later in the privacy of his room, hating that he could use magic at home without the American Wizarding Bureau breathing down his dad's neck.)

Harry nodded, smothering the urge to snark at Malfoy about not being a full-time parent either. He squashed the impulse since he didn't know how long Malfoy had been sharing custody with his estranged wife—for all he knew, Malfoy had been present for colic and dirty nappies and he did not want to put his foot in it. Again.

He gently patted Scorpius' small shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze when his touch wasn't shied away from. "Thank you for telling me. It was a very brave thing to do, Scorpius." He smiled when Scorpius beamed dozily at him, his eyes glazed and slightly unfocused but still lit with pride and happiness. "You can take a nap," he said softly, watching drooping eyelids and the small blonde head nodding jerkily. He fought the urge to smile when Scorpius curled up against his father and slipped into sleep as soon as he settled.

Harry didn't know what to say. Scorpius and Malfoy both seemed resigned to the mistreatment and he didn't know what they expected him to do. Was he just meant to file a report or step in, personally? He wanted to snap at Draco for expecting a damn thing from him, because he wouldn't be able to refuse. He was tempted to just offer the least personal sort of assistance he could. The warring reactions made him want to yank his hair out or kick the wall. He took a calming breath, instead.

"You aren't able to keep her away from him?" he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as he could.

"No," Draco said, shaking his head. He looked down at Scorpius, mostly just to avoid Harry's gaze. It wasn't accusatory, just full of honest concern which was almost as bad... "We share custody. If I don't bring him to her—well, I arrange his Port-keys so we don't actually see each other—she can sue me for full custody. I'm working with my lawyer for full custody but... these things take time," he said, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

He has been trying to file for sole custody of his son for 3 months. Astoria wasn't actively blocking him (the old hag seemed eager to relinquish her share of her responsibilities as long as she got a hefty chunk of his ancestral vaults) but the legal system moved so sodding slow! He didn't dare try to do it through the Wizengamot; they'd probably have Scorpius out of his hands before he could blink based solely on old prejudices and short memories. He had to rely on the Muggles and hope he'd get a fair cop that way.

He chanced a glance up at Potter and his brows pinched lightly when he realized the other man's face was blank; not even his eyes held a clue to his thoughts or feelings. He had no idea what Harry was thinking and it was more than a little unnerving. It was just _wrong_ for Potter to be without any sort of facial expression or clue to his inner thoughts or feelings.

Harry finally nodded. He was relieved to know Malfoy was trying... and he really hoped the blonde would get full custody. Especially if even half of Scorpius' ER visits were related to being around his mother. Most were more or less neglectful injuries, but he felt they were just as bad as deliberate abuse. He took a few moments to compose his thoughts before finally giving Draco his full attention.

"Would medical records help?"

"Not really," Draco said slowly. Nonetheless, he offered a small, grateful smile that wasn't acknowledged. "It can't be proven who inflicted the injuries, so it's pointless." He refused to allow any chance of someone using the information and accusing _him_ of hurting his son. He hated that Astoria didn't use her wand against Scorpius on those random occasions; only her hands. Untraceable if she didn't use magic if he ever was daft enough to go through the courts at home.

And in a Muggle court system, he feared medical records could point to either him or his ex-wife. He wasn't entirely confident they could pin Scorpius' injuries on her, even with Scorpius' testimony.

Harry slowly shook his head. "Not true," he paused long enough to answer the room's phone, nodding absently at the voice on the other end. His focus was mainly on working on his tablet, vaguely aware of the non-emergency in room 201. He sat back on his stool, looking at the X-ray. Thankfully, Scorpius' ankle wasn't broken, merely badly sprained. It'll hurt, and need to be immobilized, but at least Scorpius didn't need another cast.

He looked up, blinking when he saw Draco staring intently at him, his expression one of open expectation.

Oh. Right. He had lost his train of thought... Harry wiped a hand over his face, mostly in an effort to banish the mind-numbing exhaustion and give Draco the attention he deserved at the moment.

"As I was saying, not true. Some injures cannot be traced, true. But these—" He pointed to Scorpius' arm, indicating the hidden fingertip shaped bruises. "Can be measured and matched to her hands. Do you have similar sized hands?"

"No," Draco said sharply. He wanted to be offended Harry would imply he had feminine hands but once he understood what the other man meant, he sat up straighter. "Really?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and staring Potter down. "Are you an expert in this sort of thing?" he asked, unsure how he should feel about that. He unfortunately found himself wondering how Harry dealt with seeing abused children and the look on the other man's face wasn't enough of an answer.

He nearly face-palmed when he remembered just who the hell he was talking to. Everyone found out about Potter's early years after one of his relatives sold the story to the first person that would listen. (The only upside was the idiots hadn't realized they'd implicated themselves in numerous counts of child neglect and abuse. As far as he knew, they hadn't even gotten a chance to spend a single Galleon before the Wizarding world made sure to bring them to justice.)

Harry gave a tired smile. "I've offered my expertise on these sorts of cases before," he said quietly. "They might speak with Scorpius and get a statement." He hoped once a report was made and Scorpius spoke about his mother hurting him, action would be taken. He shrugged a little; he didn't get too involved in the cases. Once he gave his testimony (either as a witness to the damage or his medical expertise about results and the like), he was no longer involved. He didn't want to be involved, it was just too much to deal with on a personal level. He would keep that level of professional distance with Malfoy, too.

"I see," Draco said quietly. He hated involving Scorpius, but he might have to. Maybe his son will feel better about helping get his mother away from him? His son was old enough to understand, after all. He idly watched Harry carefully, but efficiently, wrap Scorpius ankle in a stretchy bandage and then covering it with a weird, overly large, puffy looking boot. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the ungainly looking contraption strapped to his son's foot. "Will he be able to walk in that?"

Harry snorted softly. "Not really. But most children make it work—they're usually quite determined to not be held back. It's only for a few weeks. He'll have to come back so I can re-wrap it," he said quietly, half-hating and half-looking forward to the fact that he needed to see Scorpius again. Well... that he had to see _Malfoy_ again. He handed Malfoy an after-care sheet. It was simple to remember, keeping to the RICE acronym, but he reiterated the points anyway. Reminding Malfoy to have Scorpius rest his ankle, when possible. Ice the area for about 20 minutes whenever he could get Scorpius to sit still (preferably every 4 hours or so). And to keep it lightly wrapped and elevated.

He passed over some more pain medication and slid another card into Malfoy's palm. He ignored the blonde's glare. He could rip the card up for all Harry cared but he felt like he'd done what he could, making sure the blonde had the lawyer's number. He'd heard from quite a few cases how successful the woman was at winning custody cases in favor of single fathers.

Harry signed off on the chart and slipped out of the room, ignoring the sarcastically muttered "Thanks, Saint Potter". He figured he did what he could and he was long overdue with some one-on-one time with his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I feel the need to add a few things here..._
> 
> _I researched quite a bit about child abuse statistics. Approximately 40% of cases of abuse involve mothers (acting alone). The abuse **is not** going to be a major plot point and will likely only be mentioned in passing as the story goes. On that note, I didn't (and do not) intend to make Astoria out to be an evil bitch—it just sorta happened that way. It won't turn into an Astoria bash-fest, either. After this, we're just gonna kinda ignore her existence..._
> 
> _From what I could find, the law in the UK regarding the statute of limitations regarding child abuse appears to be three years, and any charges becoming null and void after the age of 18. I figured Harry being the Savior and all that, they'd be willing to deal with the Muggles regardless of how long it had been._
> 
> _I am not an expert in family law or custody practices; most of it was cobbled together from various sources... and then pretty much just making shit up for the plot. FYI, I went with American/Muggle laws for this aspect since that's where this is taking place and that's what I know._
> 
> _I think that's it... heh. Any other concerns, feel free to ask._
> 
> _Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

After Harry saw Scorpius for a follow up (getting the blonde again purely by coincidence since they came through the ER again), it was another 3 months before he saw either Malfoy again. He blinked when he walked into the patient room and he realized Malfoy himself was the patient this time. He warily approached the bed, noticing that the blonde was holding a large, bloody wad of towels to the side of his head, right by his temple.

"Malfoy," he said, smothering the urge to sigh. He also smothered the urge to roll his eyes when Malfoy only acknowledged him with a tilt of his head, jutting that proud chin up a smidge. He gently pried Malfoy's hand away and forced himself to remain calm as he took in the damage. He had to remind himself he was a professional at least twice, though.

A large, jagged gash on the side of Malfoy's head was bleeding sluggishly. He hated seeing the pale blonde hair stained and matted with blood. It brought back too many terrible memories and feelings he'd been (mostly) successful ignoring. There was bruising already darkening some of the surrounding area. He could only imagine how hard Draco had to have been hit to make such a wound. It looked painful and he was reluctantly impressed Malfoy wasn't bitching and whinging, annoying him with his drama-queening.

"What happened?" Harry asked, not expecting an answer. When Malfoy, as expected, remained quiet he merely hummed. "You'll need sutures," he said, mostly as a courtesy, as he got a kit ready. As much as he hated the idea of marring Malfoy's skin with stitches, knowing it would scar even with his refined technique, he had to use Muggle methods. Though, the urge to whip out his wand and cast a healing charm was strong enough he had to clasp his hands together for a moment.

"I'd rather not say," Draco mumbled, finally answering Harry's question. He watched Harry putter around, gathering supplies, from the corner of his eye.

He refused to admit he'd been hit with a frying pan, like some sort of character in a bad Muggle sit-com. Unsurprisingly, the first time he saw his ex-wife in over two years lead to a loud row. He hadn't expected it to turn violent and he had been too stunned by the hit to retaliate (both by the shock and the pain). Though, had he done anything, he hoped the 'no hitting girls' rule went out the window when said 'girl' was a psychotic ex-wife, armed with cast iron cookware. He had felt little relief to when Astoria had looked just as surprised by her actions and was almost contrite after the fact.

She'd actually apologized and all that. It didn't put his head back together but it made him decidedly less pissed off at her and believing the whole thing to be an accident (or perhaps cosmic joke/kick in his arse).

Draco winced as a curiously mild smelling but cold liquid was squirted onto the side of his face, right into the wound. He wanted to snap, accuse Potter of being overly cruel, but as his eyes rolled to the corner to glare at the other man, he shut his mouth with a dull click. The sting didn't last long and he realized Harry was being as gentle as he could be, considering he had to clean the wound first. And the other man looked pained, his face pinched and his eyes a bit dazed with a faraway look he had come to associate with someone remembering.

Harry dropped his head a bit and snorted. "Big surprise," he muttered, focusing on his task. He sat back, giving the topical anesthetic a chance to work. He pondered questions and quickly discarded them. He was curious but he knew that stubborn set to Malfoy's shoulders and jaw meant he wouldn't be getting answers.

If that was how Malfoy wanted it, he was content to just sit in an awkward silence as they waited.

"How's Scorp?" Harry blurted, only able to keep silent for a grand total of 43 seconds. He nearly winced; that had to be a personal record...

"He's fine," Draco said stiffly, refusing to acknowledge the horrible shortening of his son's name. He was curious for the why of it, but was still touched Harry cared enough to ask (even if it lead to the man giving his son a terrible nickname) but, even so, didn't expand past that short answer. Thankfully, he had managed to get a brief hiatus on his wife's custody period and he hadn't had to hand his son over since the ankle incident.

He almost wished Scorpius was here now, not at all feeling petty or childish about the desire to use his son as a buffer between him and an increasingly angsty looking Harry Potter—er, Cunningham... Whatever. But, thankfully, Pansy had been available to watch his son so Scorpius didn't have to witness his father getting stitched up like a torn shirt. "How's the wife?" he asked, smirking.

Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He should have expected that... "Shut up." He focused on changing his gloves, annoyed with himself he'd managed to forget such a basic thing. Damn Malfoy—the prat always was skilled at unsettling him.

"Fine," Draco said coolly, lifting his chin and affecting disinterest.

They sat in silence for awhile, Harry checking his watch every so often and waiting for the anesthetic to work. He gently prodded the area around the wound with a gloved finger and nodded to himself when there was no pained flinching and Draco confirmed no pain. He set to work, ignoring Malfoy's eyes rolling over to stare at him as he got the needle ready and set about doing the sutures. He nearly jumped when Malfoy suddenly spoke.

"Still no ring. Or lines, even." Draco's gaze flicked to Harry's left ring finger and he smirked again, feeling rather smug. Harry's hands were covered in thin rubber gloves, but he'd made sure to look before Potter snapped the gloves on earlier and again when he'd changed them. Definitely no ring on his left ring finger. _Still_. Curious, that.

Harry scowled, trying not to retaliate against the blonde. It really wouldn't be that hard to poke a spot that still had feeling... or trim a bit more hair than required... He inhaled slowly and counted to 10. "No, and well spotted. I did say I was divorced."

"You did, but not _why_."

Harry's scowl deepened. "I really don't understand why you won't drop it. It's hardly scandalous." Or any of your fucking business, he thought archly, averting his eyes as best he could and focusing on his task.

It hadn't been scandalous; just the usual cheating, occasionally verbally abusive spouse. He hadn't known how Scott would take the knowledge of his magical background, but he told him shortly after Scott proposed. At first, the other man had been fine with it. Stunned, pleasantly surprised and had seemed to enjoy that little extra thing about him (like the perks of being able to _Accio_ or conjure lube when they both had their hands otherwise occupied).

It took a few months after they had married for him to see Scott's true self. By the time they were married two years, he questioned why he'd ever gotten married in the first place. Or how he could have missed Scott's true nature as a vindictive bully. Usually he was better at spotting that sort of thing.

Scott hadn't been accepting of all things magical, as it turned out. He could only imagine the man's reaction to a pregnant husband (which he hadn't at all expected with his husband being Muggle). Especially since they hadn't seriously discussed having children together since their second date. (And that had been a short discussion; Scott announcing he didn't want kids. His ex-husband having said 'not having to worry about little snotty brats' was one of the many perks of being gay after watching a child have a screaming tantrum in the middle of a shop.)

Harry still couldn't manage to feel guilty or bad about the American Wizarding Bureau's insistence on _Obliviating_ Scott and moving him somewhere further west when their marriage dissolved. And when he wasn't reminded of it by nosy arses, he rarely gave it a second thought.

"Seems like it's more than just something mundane. You're not that sort of bloke, Harry."

Harry sneaked a peek at Malfoy and scowled again when he caught the look on the blonde's face. He didn't like the soft expression on the Draco's face. Or the fact that Malfoy seemed to think he knew anything so personal about him (even if he _did_ ). He wanted to scoff and tell Malfoy to fuck off again but he didn't. He just shrugged. "It just didn't work out," he said simply.

"Why not?"

Harry's face shifted into a scowl again. He idly wondered if it would become permanently etched into his face if he spent any more time with Malfoy. "Will you just leave it? It doesn't matter. I'm not married any longer, end of story."

"I'm just curious. It just seems so... out of character for you," Draco said quietly. He didn't like the pained looks that kept flitting over Harry's face and he slowly, carefully covered Harry's hand with his, squeezing gently. He didn't hold him long, knowing Harry needed both hands for the suture work, but he felt better knowing he had at least _tried_ to comfort the other man (even if he didn't know the first thing about it and most likely did a right shit job of it). He felt a bit bad Harry's marriage didn't work out, even if there was a small petty part of him that reveled in the knowledge Harry wasn't involved with anyone anymore.

Not that it was important to him. Not even a little bit. That relieved, gleefully happy part was miniscule indeed. Infinitesimal.

Harry just hummed again, focusing on his sutures. If he continued to keep them small, he had at least five more to do. As tempting as it was to rush through and just close up with two, he didn't want to sacrifice the results. "It's not," he finally muttered. "I didn't want to be taken advantage of any longer. I wasn't going to be his doormat."

"Ah," Draco said, going still at the 'his' part even as his stomach swooped and clenched in a way that was almost unpleasant.

He wondered if Harry meant to say that, seeing as how he realized Harry had previously been rather careful to avoid using any pronouns when speaking of his estranged spouse. Other emotions trickled through now that his body had fully caught up with his brain. He felt an odd sort of anger simmer in his chest, quietly outraged someone could possibly think they could take advantage of Harry fucking Potter. Didn't they know who the man was? It was for the best Harry left the clueless arsehole.

Slowly, that anger simmered down, and a strange sort of pride took its place that Harry had learned to have a backbone. He's said the Gryffindor had always been too open, eager to please those he cared about and ridiculously easy to manipulate. He'd only just found out about that manipulation bit when things fell apart and he took a moment to lament never having a chance to exploit that (in only pleasurable ways, mind) for himself...

"Well good for you," Draco said, nodding a little, forgetting he was being stitched up. Luckily, it didn't hurt (though, there was a curious _pulling_ sensation at his numbed temple) or mess up Harry's work. He stilled when Harry's fingers pressed against his jaw, a silent reminder to keep still. He might've imagined the fingers lingering or a slight caress before Harry went back to what he'd been doing. "I mean, it's about time you learned not to let people walk all over you."

Harry hummed again, his lips thinning in annoyance and he said nothing. He was still pissed at himself for his slip-up. He realized he had said 'his' earlier. He wasn't embarrassed or anything; it was pretty common knowledge he wasn't interested in women, even before he had moved to America. He was just pissed he gave Malfoy any more information. He couldn't help snickering, Malfoy's wide-eyed look that he seemed unaware of making was very noticeable and very amusing.

He raised an eyebrow and Malfoy quickly averted his eyes, clearing his throat. Apparently, the blonde prat _hadn't_ been aware of it. Now that was interesting. Malfoy was obviously trying very hard not to speak; his jaw was clenched, the muscles ticking with each clench, and his fingers were digging into his thighs. He was going to hurt himself at some point if he kept trying to hold himself still and keep whatever it was in.

"Oh, stop it," Harry finally said before Malfoy could break a tooth or start twitching. He couldn't help snickering under his breath when Malfoy side-eyed him with a glare. "Just say it," he said with a resigned sigh.

"Fine," Draco said with a sniff. "I didn't know you were bent." He peeked at Harry, scowling a little when he caught a smirk lifting the corner of Harry's mouth. The prat. "Well, I didn't! Does anyone?" he asked, convinced Harry had kept it secret. It would be just like him to sneak around, shagging blokes in dark alleys so no one would know their Savior and Golden Boy was a shirt-lifter. Not that wizards really cared about such things when done discretely and the Americans seemed to only care when it involved scandal.

Harry nodded, relieved he was finally on the last suture. "Oh, yeah. Everyone knows, I suppose. I don't hide it and it was pretty much made common knowledge after Ron walked in on me and Kevin. His screams brought the entire house into the hallway," he said with a snicker, smiling a little as he remembered.

At the time he had been utterly mortified, wishing he could melt into the floor after being caught on his knees in front of his then-secret-boyfriend. Now, though, it only made him laugh softly with fond memories. Both of Kevin, his first love, and Ron's bug-eyed expression as he stood sputtering. Fred and George had only laughed, slapping Ron on the back in sympathy and called him an 'oblivious git' (the twins had apparently sussed out Harry's sexual leanings long ago).

Both Fred and George had taken great glee in reminding Ron of the virtues of knocking for nearly a year.

"And before you ask," Harry said, seeing Malfoy's mouth open; "I can't imagine why you didn't know before." He really didn't. He hadn't made it a secret even when they were beginning their friendship. He'd even briefly thought it the reason Malfoy had backed off, the blonde either unwilling to be friends with a ponce or afraid he'd be propositioned (which was tempting, but Harry wouldn't have approached Draco at the time—he valued their friendship too much).

He could only guess the issue never came up and by the time Malfoy was ignoring him, he'd taken to being more discrete with his relationships so he didn't have to worry about the chance he'd end up on the front of the _The Daily Prophet_ every other day. The first and only time it'd happened, it had been extremely embarrassing to read the gossip columns, the various 'reporters' arguing which 'role' he assumed in the bedroom. Ugh.

Draco huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He was feeling a right strop coming on. He felt stupid having not known. He nearly groaned, realizing just how stupid he had been. He would probably kick himself later for the years wasted... "You didn't say," he muttered sullenly. Because, honest to Merlin, if Harry had _said_ it he wouldn't have buggered off like a stupid little git.

Er... _Probably_. He was able to admit, only to himself (and for approximately 4 seconds), he might've still done the same thing. Of course, then it would've been in self-preservation so he wasn't gang-mobbed for sullying the Golden Prat.

"I didn't think I had to," Harry said, shrugging a little. He carefully covered the sutured area with gauze, gently smoothing the edges of tape over the plaster. It took a conscious effort to keep his fingers from wandering along pale skin (maybe slide through the bits of blonde hair not bloody) and he quickly jerked his hands away, gathering the scattered bits of detritus and tools.

He paused once he was successfully calmed down enough to look at Draco. He pursed his lips a little, glancing at the area under the plaster before meeting Draco's eyes again. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Draco scowled and set his jaw. There was no bloody way he was admitting he'd gotten whomped upside the head with a frying pan. By his enraged ex-wife. It was... so clichéd and embarrassing. He stared straight ahead and kept silent.

"I see," Harry said with a mock sigh of exasperation but snickering under his breath again. He wasn't at all surprised to see Malfoy's mouth thin, firmly shut and resolute in his silence. "Fine. I only ask in case you want charges brought up." He highly doubted Draco would, and thankfully the git didn't even bother trying to make excuses or foff it off as an accident.

Draco's eyes slowly rolled to the side to glare at Harry. "No, I'm fine. Thank you," he said shortly, glare shifting into a fierce scowl just long enough for Harry to see it and properly be cowed by it. (Not that he was, the cheeky bastard.) He didn't think he'd ever hear the end of it if he tried to have Astoria arrested. Tempting though it might be. "Are we finished?"

"Yes, I'm finished," Harry said with a soft sigh, pulling his rubber gloves off. He went about balling them, keeping his gaze averted. He expected Malfoy to storm out but the blonde was just standing there; staring at him while his fingers twitched ever-so-slightly. "What?" He looked up, confused by the unreadable expression on Malfoy's face. The blank look was a new one. Malfoy had always tried for a stoic calm, but never quite managed it. There had always been a tell...

This though, this expression was probably the cool aloofness he'd always strived for because Harry couldn't figure a damn thing out. He frowned a little, confusion growing as he tried to sort out the blank faced expression and fidgeting hands. He couldn't imagine what was going through Malfoy's head right now to cause such a reaction and he could only wait, fighting for patience.

Draco could only shake his head, unsure how to articulate his thoughts. Which was a first.

It was infuriating, quite honestly. He wasn't exactly thrilled to find a way to say that he was an idiot, but he was atriculate and it was a new level of 'what the fuck' to feel his throat remain tight and his mind remain blank. He stared, unable to speak but stupidly touched Harry was just standing there, green eyes wide and patient, while he tried.

Draco opened his mouth again, but nothing came out. Not a word about being an idiot. Or that he didn't know why he thought running from Harry had been a wise idea. He wasn't sure how he could say he fancied the pants off the idiot and he had for _years_ , adding another reason why he'd put a distance between their growing friendship. He had thought Harry would be disgusted and angered by his changing feelings and to realize how wrong he was... It was very effective in keeping him mute.

He fidgeted. Another first. He stilled himself with an effort when his restless feet and hands only seemed to amuse Harry.

Draco scowled when Harry only gazed back calmly, his expression open and waiting patiently for him to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth and _say something_. "He was an idiot," he blurted out. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep himself from slapping a hand over his mouth, eyes or... just slapping himself silly, really. Because honestly; of all the things to come tumbling out of his mouth...

Harry could only give a small smile. He could play dumb and pretend he didn't know what Malfoy meant or who he was speaking of, but he wasn't in the mood. He shrugged one shoulder and looked away, "Maybe."

Draco glared, his earlier embarrassment vanishing in the welcomed routine of normality: Potter being an idiot. "Don't argue with me, Potter. I'll have you know I had top marks." He glared briefly, stopping any reminders of Granger holding the top spot with a look (Harry well aware he would argue it had been the top spot for _witches_ —even if there had actually been such a distinction at Hogwarts). He didn't even think about it, it'd just _happened_ , even after all the years apart. And Harry went along with it, smirking in response but not arguing.

For once.

"And?" Harry asked, loosely crossing his arms over his chest.

" _And_ ," Draco stressed, lifting his chin. "It means I'm highly intelligent. So I know what I'm speaking about. If I say that bloke was an idiot, you just nod that pretty little head of yours and agree with me." He smirked at the surprise on Harry's face and raised an eyebrow, daring the other man to argue. Because, really, he was in the mood for a good go at Potter right now.

Harry just nodded dutifully. He paused mid-way through the second nod, looking at Draco with narrowed eyes. "Did you just call me pretty?" he asked. His lips twitched, the urge to smirk back hard to resist, when Malfoy blinked a few times, his cheeks slowly turning pink, and tried to affect a careless shrug. He settled for making a sound that was mostly a pleased hum, partially a smug little sniff. "You _did_."

"Shut up."

"No."

"Shut. Up!"

" _No_."

"I swear..." Draco let loose a long suffering sigh and slowly rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling. He could feel the heat on his cheeks and it was positively mortifying. Damn his stupid pale complexion! He couldn't remember the last time he blushed... Figures it'd be in front of Harry, too. He crossed his arms over his chest and resolutely looked away, refusing to give Harry any further satisfaction.

He got to his feet, glad the dizzy feeling had passed and he didn't add to the mortification by adding 'stumbling about' or 'passing out on Potter' to the list of mortifying-things-that-happened-today.

Harry chuckled and decided to let the issue drop. Draco looked very unwilling to admit anything and he really wasn't in the mood to argue, even if there was a playful edge to it that he tried not to feel nostalgic over. He reached out and briefly touched Draco's elbow.

Draco stared at the small, slightly lop-sided smile and gently pulled his arm away. Now was not the time to be tempted by Potter, not after he'd made such an arse of himself. He didn't know how to feel about the way Potter's smile dropped and he yanked his hand away, but he did know he missed the contact.

"Right," Harry said, stepping back. "Well, you're all set." He watched Draco's mouth open and close twice before the blonde just turned on his heel and left.


End file.
